I Don't Care
by thecoloursoftheworld
Summary: Set in the wine shop when Marius is acting like an idiot. Enjolras/Grantaire, NON-DESCRIPTIVE, NON-GRAPHIC, NOT SMUT. Rated T for suggestive themes.


**A/N: So I am REALLY happy with how this turned out. I was reading Les Mis and because I'm a piece of poo I decided to skip ahead to Enjolras/Grantaire's death scene and got really sad and so I wrote this. Amazingly, I'm still really sad because E&R OKAY JESUS CHRIST**

* * *

"-had you been there today you might also have known," Marius said, eyes ablaze with a familiar type of passion, "how your world may be changed in just one burst of light."

Enjolras opened his mouth a little and glanced at Grantaire, who was smirking. _Of course I know_, Enjolras thought, a faint red flush crossing his cheeks. Grantaire took another swig of wine and, stumbling a little, said, drunkenly, "Maybe he already knows, Marius."

Marius laughed, along with the rest of the students. Enjolras scoffed and turned back to the table laden with parchment.

"Now, the only problem is rain," he said to Courfreyrac. "It has the potential to damage the gunpowder, so we need to be very conscious of that."

Courfreyrac nodded, looking thoughtful. "Could we store extra ammunition here?"

Combeferre, who was standing next to Courfreyrac, shook his head. "There wouldn't be enough left outside for us to withstand a surprise attack. It would take too long for people to run in here and fetch it."

"Well, let us pray for a sunny day," Enjolras said, and turning his head slightly he caught a glance of Grantaire; he was sitting next to Marius, but was not talking very much and seemed to be deep in thought. He contemplated the contents of his bottle before gulping more down. Enjolras closed his eyes for a second and huffed out his breath. Grantaire looked up and caught Enjolras' eye; he smiled and gave the blond a saucy wink before turning back to Marius and replying to whatever he had just said.

"Enjolras, you look exhausted," said Courfreyrac, jolting Enjolras back. He looked concerned. "Why don't we adjourn early tonight? You need to sleep. You're of no use to us half-dead on your feet."

"I'm fine, Courf."

Jean Prouvaire, who was passing behind him, stopped. "Enjolras, you need sleep," he said, in his soft, lilting voice. "Courfreyrac is right. You ought to just adjourn.. You look as if you're going to fall over any second."

Jehan's words mixed with Courfreyrac and Combeferre's fervent nods made Enjolras relent. "Fine, fine, you're right. By God, you're like mother hens, though."

* * *

Enjolras slumped down into the solitary chair of his apartment and rubbed his eyes wearily. The fire crackled merrily, but he was too exhausted to appreciate its warmth. He refused to give in to sleep, however, and continued to go over the plans for several hours—the outside darkness permeated the small room, making it feel even less spacious.

Enjolras sighed and scribbled a footnote on a scrap of parchment. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, a pair of warm, soft hands were slowly massaging his shoulders.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Enjolras. You need to relax now and again."

"But how can I relax..." mumbled Enjolras; he forgot what he was going to say and his voice trailed off into nothingness. Grantaire laughed softly and kissed the top of his head.

"I know a few tricks," he said, and came into sight. He smiled sweetly and perched on Enjolras' lap.

"Grantaire, I can't. I've got work to do," whispered Enjolras; the rest of the room seemed to blur as Grantaire came into greater focus.

"I don't care," breathed Grantaire, and he began to kiss Enjolras' neck softly. He tugged off the blond's shirt, which was stained slightly with the grime that seemed to coat the city in a thick layer. Enjolras' chest was well-muscled and the light-coloured hair that grew on it was short and curly.

Enjolras tilted his head back as far as the chair would allow, granting more access to Grantaire. "You're awful, you know," he murmured. Grantaire smiled against his skin.

"I don't care," he repeated, and his lips found Enjolras'; they were silent for several minutes.

Enjolras felt dizzy as his hands crept onto Grantaire's shoulders, tugging the clothing away from the smooth, pale expanse of skin and off of his arms.

"If this was our last night on earth," Grantaire whispered, letting his hands explore Enjolras' golden curls, thumbs tracing his immaculate jawline, "would you say that you love me?"

"It isn't our last night on earth," Enjolras said, staring into Grantaire's wide, brown eyes, still slightly bloodshot.

"I don't care," Grantaire said for the third time, and he stood up, pulling Enjolras to the bed in the corner. "I don't care," he said again, tugging his lover down to meet him. "I don't care."

And they made love, and in the sweaty after-haze, he kept uttering the words, until they lost all meaning and were broken into tiny fragments, each utterance separated by _I love you_ and a thousand kisses sprinkled over Enjolras' naked chest and face and hands.

Finally his voice stopped working and he began to sob, and Enjolras held him until he quieted. "I don't care," he whispered, voice hoarse and cracked. "I don't."

"Yes, you do," said Enjolras, and he smiled sadly. "I love you, Grantaire."

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**A/N: *SOBS INCOHERENTLY***


End file.
